Aunt Maria laid Pen down on her bed.
In the midst of his passionate solicitude, a queer little suspicion flickered up in Pendleton's eyes. "While I am gone for the doctor don't let her exert herself in the slightest," he commanded.
Aunt Maria reassured him and he hastened out of the house.
The instant the front door closed behind him Pen sat up in bed, and felt of her hair. Aunt Maria took it as a matter of course. Unlettered though she might be, she had a fully-developed set of instincts; she knew that all sorts of expedients were required to manage those unreasonable creatures, men, and she awaited the explanation with an air of being surprised at nothing and ready for anything.
"I've got to go out," said Pen, exchanging her evening slippers for a pair of rubber-soled sneakers.
Aunt Maria looked rather dubious.
Pen saw that she would win her more securely by appealing to her sense of romance. She began: "That young man who had lunch and dinner with us..."
Aunt Maria's broad face softened and her eyes rolled zestfully.
"There is a story in the paper accusing him of murder!"
It was not what Aunt Maria expected. Her chin dropped, and her eyes almost started from her head. "Bless God!" she murmured.